Page 23 of The Duke Who Dared Me
She was studying him now, lashes lowered.“You’ve been different lately.”
He frowned.“Different how?”
“You used to spar for sport.Now it feels like we’re playing with fire.”
Alistair was quiet for a moment before finally caving and admitting the truth.“Maybe we are.”
She laughed, soft and bitter.“Since when do you admit to anything?”
“Since you started driving me mad,” he said before he could stop himself.
Silence.
He regretted it the moment he said it.He could’ve blamed the thin air, or the fact that he could still feel the phantom warmth of her palm pressed so close to an inconvenient cockstand.That didn’t change the truth.
She did suit him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to admit until recently.Since kissing her?It was like her lips were poison, and he had willingly sipped until he fell headfirst over the best riding boots, and there was no chance of a recovery.He woke and thought of her, spent his day riding or visiting clubs, and still her memory haunted him.But the worst of it was at night, when he finally lay in bed and tried to sleep, and his body burned for another touch of her, desperate for a kiss and the knowledge of what the privilege of bringing about her pleasure would be like.
He couldn’t say that.Certainly couldn’t admit it.Most of the time, he was convinced they both still loathed one another.
“Why did you say that?”she asked, her voice careful.
“Because it’s the first thing I haven’t lied about in weeks.”
Her lips parted, and she swayed ever so slightly toward him.
He stepped closer until there was barely a breath between them.
“You keep saying you hate me,” he said quietly.“But you kissed me back.”
Her chin lifted.“You kissed me first.”
“And you slapped me.”
“You deserved it.”
He smiled, but there was no humor in it.“I deserve worse.”
“I could arrange that.”
“You already did,” he murmured.She had killed him in a thousand tiny ways since that kiss.The silence, her avoidance, the way she would divert her glance if he dared make eye contact.
Another moment stretched between them.
He reached for a stray curl beside her ear, letting his fingertips brush her skin just once before pulling back.
“I’m not what you want.I know that.I’ve never been good with…”
“With what?”she whispered.
“Wanting someone.Needingsomeone.”He glanced over her shoulder.“I don’t want you to marry Brookhouse,” he said suddenly, meeting her gaze once again.
Her breath caught.
And that, right there, that honest, awful truth, was what undid him.Because it was Verity.Of all women.Verity Baxter, with her sharp tongue and wicked smile, and a heart too wild for any man to tame.She wasn’t what he’d planned.She wasn’t even what he thought he liked.But somehow, the thought of her choosing someone else was… Well, he’d rather be ruined.
Verity scoffed.“He’s kind to me.”
“He’s an idiot.”
